


Sleeping At Last

by isthisenoughorcanwegohigher



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: (but not really a boy band just a band), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 16:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16998948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthisenoughorcanwegohigher/pseuds/isthisenoughorcanwegohigher
Summary: Newt and Thomas have been inseparable for as long as they can remember. Neither can remember or imagine life without the other. A cuddle session after a particularly emotional show on tour leads to Thomas voicing his insecurities. Why does Newt love him? Why does Newt put up with him? And why has Newt stuck by his side for all this time?





	Sleeping At Last

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afangirlwashere (find them on Tumblr!)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=afangirlwashere+%28find+them+on+Tumblr%21%29).



> _No one can unring this bell_   
>  _Unsound this alarm, unbreak my heart new_   
>  _God knows, I am dissonance_   
>  _Waiting to be swiftly pulled into tune_

Newt could hear the screams of the crowd echoing in his ears. Even with the in-ear monitors, the cheering lingered.

Not that Newt ever minded. None of them ever did. It was their dream, after all, to play their music and tour the world. It was everything they’d ever wanted, even if they didn’t start off knowing that.

Still, it had been a few hours since they’d ended their set in Milan and gotten back on the bus, setting off for Bern, and Newt couldn’t shake the headache worming its way right behind his eyes. He rubbed at his temples, grimacing to himself as Minho let out a particularly loud cheer, having beat Frypan in another glorious round of Mario Kart.

More than the lasting impact of the noise was getting to him, though. Newt had seen a few signs out in the audience that had only served to make him angry, but he’d seen Thomas’s face fall when he’d read them.

While Newt and Thomas weren’t exactly open about their relationship, it wasn’t a secret, either, and there was the occasional handful of fans that weren’t too happy about it. Tonight, it seemed, they had been out in force.

Newt would never repeat what was on the signs held up at the show tonight, but when they’d played one of their older, sadder songs, Thomas had choked up during his solo.

Yes, Newt determined, squeezing his eyes shut, his headache was partly because of his anger at the fans tonight.

“You alright, mate?” Minho’s voice brought Newt back to the present, and the jolting of the tour bus on the highway.

“Mmm,” Newt hummed in response, cracking his eyes open to see his three bandmates watching him warily. “Long night.”

Frypan was watching him closer than the other two, his own eyes narrowed on the lead guitarist, concern sparkling in them. “Why don’t you go lie down?”

“Yeah, and Tho- hey!” Minho complained, rubbing his arm and glaring at Frypan.

Newt clambered up from the couch. “Lying down sounds fantastic,” he said as he disappeared into the back of the bus.

“I’m just gonna...go,” Thomas said, following swiftly behind Newt.

Minho snorted. “See?”

Frypan rolled his eyes and smacked Minho’s arm again. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Uh-huh.”

But neither the bassist nor the drummer could deny the small smiles on their faces as they watched their lead singer shut the door behind him as he followed the guitarist.

* * *

“Hey, Newt,” Thomas whispered, gently placing a hand on the older boy’s shoulder.

Newt shifted in his bunk and glanced up at Thomas, the ghost of a smile on tugging at his lips.

“Tommy.”

“Want some company?”

Newt heard the hesitation in Thomas’s voice, and felt the fury start slowly boiling away in his veins again.

“Of course.”

Thomas offered a relieved smile that made Newt want to shake some sense into him, and hoisted himself up into the bunk next to Newt. 

It was a rather small bunk to begin with, but now with both boys twisting their limbs together in an effort to fit, it seemed as though they’d crawled into an air vent overlooking the arena before a show just to spend some time together.

Not that they’d ever done that, of course, Newt would be quick to say, too dangerous. Far too dangerous.

Neither of them complained, though. Both felt the leftover tension from the show prickling in the space just between where Newt’s hand rested on Thomas’s thigh, heard the worry in the space between their quiet breaths.

Newt just wanted to be as content as possible in the moment and fall asleep with Thomas in his arms, but his boyfriend, it seemed, had other ideas.

After Newt cautiously placed a kiss on his forehead, Thomas whispered, “Why…?”

“What?”

Thomas cleared his throat, the sound loud and jarring in the slight silence that had settled around the two boys, and tried again. “Why have you stayed by my side all these years?”

Newt sat up as best he could and stared at Thomas, his eyes wide. “Because I love you,” he responded, hoping Thomas couldn’t hear the panic and urgency in his voice. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of.

“Do you really, though?”

The question was so quiet that Newt almost missed it.

“Of course,” he assured Thomas.

“Do you?” Thomas asked again, squinting up at Newt. “Because I still remember the year when neither of us could stand each other.”

* * *

Newt was out of breath, panting as he sprinted to the bus stop. It wouldn’t do to be late for the first day of high school, but the weather-rain, which he should have been used to, damn it, he grew up in London-had been so dark at such an early hour that he’d overslept.

Not a great overall first impression, and Minho would mock him relentlessly for at least the next month if he was late for the first day of school.

Distracted by his thoughts, Newt stumbled and nearly fell head first into a puddle.

A pair of arms wrapped around him and pulled him back, steadying him on his feet. He heard Minho snickering as he got his bearings, but it wasn’t Minho’s hand that lingered on his, or Minho who asked, “You okay?”

Newt looked up into the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes he’d ever seen. “‘M fine,” he breathed, still staring into the warm gaze of this stranger.

The hand was gone from his in a flash at the response, and Newt had to stick his hand in his pocket to keep from reaching out to take the boy’s hand back.

“Morning,” Minho supplied, drawing the attention of Newt and the boy. “Great first day already, huh?”

“Shove it,” Newt retorted. “Thanks,” he tacked on, moving his gaze back to the boy, “for saving me. This asshole,” he jabbed a thumb at Minho, who adopted a look of mock horror, “would have let me fall.”

“I would not have!”

“He would have,” Newt assured, “so thanks.”

“No problem,” the boy said. “I’m Thomas, by the way.”

Thomas. Newt loved the way it sounded. “I’m Newt.” He offered up his hand to Thomas, who shook it, and Newt felt a fire ignite in his fingertips when Thomas pulled away.

Minho snorted quietly, his face now adjourned with a smirk. “I’m Minho,” he supplied for Thomas, “and you’re new, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. My parents got this great new job offer with one of the hospitals here, so they transferred me and my sister over the summer, and we moved here.”

“Where from?” Minho asked.

“California,” Thomas said. “They were working for some experimental project at the CDC, but that started going sideways, so when they got this offer, they jumped at the chance.”

“California?” Newt interjected. “That’s a long trip.”

Minho laughed. “Not as long as yours was, man.”

“You moved here too?” Thomas asked.

Newt shifted his weight slightly, suddenly wishing he’d actually missed the bus, which now seemed to be taking a lifetime to get here. “From London.”

“That’s definitely a longer trip. Shit,” Thomas said, laughing softly.

If Newt hadn’t felt the familiar flash of irritation that came with talking about his move, he’d have thought that Thomas’s laugh was one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard, but in the moment, he hated it.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“So you have a sister?” Minho asked, a little louder than he intended.

“Yup. Her name’s Teresa.” Thomas rolled his eyes. “You won’t meet her today, she convinced our parents to let her skip today so she could see their workplace.”

“She’s big into science, then?”

“You could say that. If Teresa could date the concept of science, I’m fairly sure they’d be married already.”

Newt caught sight of the bus finally approaching and found that his stomach now twisted with an odd mixture of relief and jealousy. Minho was his friend, the one person over the past two years who had helped him adjust to life in Vermont, who had not at first avoided him because he was the new kid and then because he was the kid with dead parents, who knew every secret Newt whispered up to the night sky. 

He was his friend, not Thomas’s, and despite knowing how afraid Thomas must be, starting at a new school, new life, new everything, Newt had gone abruptly from being infatuated with him to wanting him to disappear.

* * *

Newt’s jealousy had only grown during the day. Thomas shared more classes with Minho than he did, and it seemed that over the first three hours of high school, the two had become attached at the hip.

Newt wanted to stomp his foot on the ground and whine until Thomas left them alone at lunch, but Minho’s grin was infectious, and Newt didn’t want to upset Minho.

Still, he found that it was easier to hate Thomas than it was to like him. Liking him meant that he could lose his best friend to the new kid. Liking him meant that he could be hurt by him.

But hating him? Hating him meant that he could block Thomas out of his life, protect himself, and keep Minho, even if it hurt him to hate Thomas. Hating him was just so much easier, so much safer, and so Newt walked into his house that day with the guilt of hating Thomas eating away at him.

* * *

The next few weeks were definitely the worst of Newt’s life. They made the top ten, at least, and if he was really keeping track, they made the top five. Not that he was keeping track.

The first week of school, Newt had done everything in his power to avoid Thomas, even if Minho made it next to impossible.

The second week, Thomas had caught on that Newt didn’t like him. Thomas just wasn’t sure why, or how, or to what extent. He did everything in his power to try and get Newt to warm up to him, but Newt rejected the boy at every turn. Each glare set his stomach churning, each snappy response had his cheeks heating up.

The third week, Newt had spent enough time forcing himself to hate Thomas that he could no longer remember having been intrigued by him, and he could no longer tolerate the boy’s presence. He barely even remembered meeting the sister, because every thought he now had of Thomas was tinged with the jealousy and hatred that had bubbled up that first day.

It was Tuesday now, and Newt had been dropped off at school halfway through the day, after missing the first few classes for a doctor’s appointment. He found himself in need of some time spent with just Minho, relaxing in the shade of the baseball field bleachers, but when he got to the cafeteria to hunt his friend down, the only person sitting at their usual table was Thomas.

A practiced sneer fell into place on Newt’s face as he approached the table.

Thomas looked up when he heard him walk up. “Oh,” he said quietly, and for a moment, Newt thought he saw a flicker of regret on his face. “Hey, Newt.”

“Where’s Minho?” It was a usual clipped reply, no hello, no acknowledgment of Thomas himself.

“Make-up test, I think,” Thomas answered quickly, tearing his eyes away from Newt. “Since his family’s going on vacation starting Thursday.”

“Oh.” Newt had forgotten that. “Right.”

“So uh...are you...do you want to sit?” Thomas asked.

Newt wanted nothing more than to sit down, yes, but the hopefulness in the question set him on edge.

“No.”

“O-okay.” Thomas kept his eyes on the food in front of him.

Newt spun on his heel and stalked away from the table, hoping his expression was guarded enough that no one could see that beneath the hatred he held for Thomas was a deeper need to connect with the boy. He was almost out of the cafeteria when he heard Thomas call after him.

“Why do you hate me?”

Newt froze on the spot, at once feeling the eyes of every student in the cafeteria on him. A silence fell over the room. It took a few moments to remember how to move, and then he turned to face Thomas.

Thomas had stood up from his spot at the table, and was staring Newt down across the room, which was unusually bold for him.

“What?” Newt’s question was sharp, half disbelief that Thomas thought he actually hated him, and half relieved that Thomas had finally caught on.

“Why do you hate me?” Thomas repeated, his eyes narrowing. “What have I done to make you hate me so much in the past three weeks?”

Even with the distance that kept them apart, Newt could still see the hurt hiding just beneath Thomas’s momentary bravery, and he yearned to rush back to him and tell him the truth, to open up to him and admit what he was doing, how afraid he was to let people in, but he’d played the part for so long now that the wrong words spilled past his lips before he could stop them.

“You took my best friend from me,” he retorted, returning Thomas’s glare, then spinning on his heel and nearly sprinting out of the cafeteria.

He didn’t seem Thomas again until the end of the day, when he was on his way to the library to study.

Thomas was talking quietly to Minho in the courtyard before he disappeared into his mother’s car. Whatever he’d been saying had upset Minho, because when he spotted Newt, he frowned and jogged over to him.

“Hey, Minho,” Newt said quietly.

“What the fuck?” Minho exclaimed.

Newt’s eyes widened. That hadn’t been what he expected. “What?” he returned, now feeling wary of his friend.

“Why the fuck did you tell Thomas you hate him?”

Oh. “Because I do,” Newt said, forcing back the urge to snap the words at Minho.

“Uh-huh. And you hate him because he took me from you?”

Shit. “I didn’t mean it like-”

Minho cut him off. “Save it, Newt. This is ridiculous! Thomas hasn’t done anything to hurt you, especially not that. He can’t take me from you, or anyone else, because I don’t belong to you, Newt. The only person I belong to is myself. I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you, but you need to sort it out and fast, or you will lose me, Newt, because I don’t want to be friends with someone who thinks that just by being friends with other people means that I’m being taken away from him.”

Newt didn’t have a chance to formulate a response as Minho shook his head at him, and, at his lack of response, turned and walked away.   
Newt clenched his teeth together in an effort to keep the sudden tears at bay.  _ Shit. _ Minho was right. Of course he was. Minho was always right. But if Newt was anything, he was stubborn, and he was afraid, and those two things were a bad combination.

Newt continued his journey to the library, lost in thought.

* * *

It had been another few weeks since Minho’s ultimatum, and Newt had been wrong before. The previous few weeks didn’t make the top five, but these ones certainly did, because during these past few weeks, he had been completely alone.

Newt hadn’t realized until Minho really didn’t talk to him, in or out of school, just how much he depended on Minho for social interaction, for normalcy, for companionship.

Especially now with the winter holidays just around the corner, Newt felt more isolated than ever. He watched from a distance as Minho and Thomas grew closer, and each time he saw them laughing, he felt his heart twist in his chest. He yearned to rip it out and throw it in the closest trash bin. Everything about seeing them happy together hurt.

It was Thursday now, the last Thursday of the year that he would spend in school, and Newt’s grandfather was late picking him up. 

It wasn’t unusual for his grandfather to be late, particularly on Thursdays, when Lizzie had to be picked up from school and taken to her dance lessons. But with the change in seasons came a change in weather, and Newt found it too cold to walk from school to the library to wait to be picked up. The cold made his limp worse. So Newt elected to find open rooms in the school and wait in the warmth of a secluded classroom.

Today, Newt needed not just the warmth of an empty room, he needed the comforting familiarity of music, so, shoving his hands in his coat pocket, Newt headed down the hallway that would take him to the band room. He could already hear the tune he’d been playing with in his head.

The only trouble was, it was layered over by a soft melody already coming from the band room. Someone was already there.

The gentle strum of the guitar latched on to Newt and pulled him closer, until he found himself watching the mystery player from the window in the door.

Whoever it was, they were amazing. The chords flowed effortlessly, and they were singing 21 Guns-one of Newt’s favorite songs-beautifully.

The player finished the song and turned slightly, lowering their guitar into the case on the floor.

Newt jerked away from the door with a start. The guitar player was Thomas.

Shit. Shit shit shit. Newt had half a mind to turn and run, all the way to the library, but everything he’d felt that first day came rushing up and he found himself pushing the door open.

Thomas froze and looked up, his eyes wide with the startling realization that someone else was in the room with him. When he recognized Newt, his expression relaxed, but his shoulders tensed.

“Newt?” 

The greeting was also a question, one which Newt had no answer to. He wasn’t sure why he was here now, either, except he found himself saying, “I didn’t know you could play.”

There was a moment of silence, so profoundly awkward that Newt wanted to leave and pretend this had never happened.

“Uh. Yeah, it’s just a hobby of mine, I guess, and um, I don’t know? It’s just something I do.”

“You’re good.” Newt wanted to stuff his fist in his mouth. What was he doing?

“Thanks?”

“I’m serious,” Newt said, and suddenly the filters of hatred he’d built up cracked and crumbled down. “You’re, like, really good. And that song is good. I love it, actually, it’s one of my top ten songs. How long have you been playing?”

Thomas was staring at him, and Newt didn’t blame him. This was entirely out of character. After a couple seconds of Thomas sizing him up, he said, “I started playing when I was six. My parents were a bit disappointed that I wasn’t really into science like they and Teresa were, but they bought me this guitar and I’ve been playing ever since.”

“That’s awesome.” Newt could feel a genuine smile on his face. “I’ve only recently started playing. ‘M not very good at it yet, but I aim to be a rockstar on the guitar one day.”

Thomas returned Newt’s eager smile with a hesitant one of his own. “You play?”

“Yeah.”

“You sing, too?”

Newt took a step further into the room, and felt an overwhelming sense of relief when Thomas didn’t take a step back. “A little bit. Not nearly as good as you, but decently, I suppose.”

Something shifted between the two of them, then, and Thomas patted the spot on the ground next to him, offering Newt a hand and a shy smile.

* * *

The next day, Newt could have laughed when he saw the look of alarm on Minho’s face as both Thomas and Newt approached the suddenly weary boy.

“What?” he asked, eyeing the two of them.

“Newt says you play the bass guitar?” Thomas asked in response.

“What?” Minho repeated.

“We’re starting a band,” Newt said. “We need someone to play bass, and I know you play, since you’re the one that got me into music and all.”

“You’re what?”

“Starting a band,” Thomas and Newt said in unison.

“Okay,” Minho said, holding up a hand. “Couple of questions. A few questions. Several, actually. Since when are you two on speaking terms? Why are you starting a band? Since when do two people who hardly acknowledge each other suddenly decide to start a band? What the hell happened? And why are you asking me to play bass in your band?”

Thomas shared a grin with Newt, and then launched into the story. “Well, yesterday after school Newt found me in the band room and kinda barged in on me and told me that I was good, and we got to talking, and playing, and we ended up going to his house, talked and played some more, and then mostly talked, and it turns out we-”

Newt tuned the two out again, although he was unable to shake the feeling of Thomas brushing against his side as he gestured to Minho will he spoke, remembering how he’d felt the previous night.

The two of them hadn’t just talked music, they’d wound up on Newt’s roof after the sun had set. It was an unseasonably warm night, and on nights like that, Newt loved to watch the stars and whisper his secrets to them.

Usually Minho was with him, but last night, it had been Thomas, and as they lay on the roof of Newt’s house, giggling in the dark and swapping stories of their lives, Newt had finally felt complete.

Minho kept him grounded, but Thomas made him feel whole.

“-So we’re starting a band. And if you agree to be the bassist, then we just need a drummer,” Thomas finished, draping an arm over Newt’s shoulders, effectively bringing Newt back to the present.

Minho glanced from Thomas to Newt and back again before shaking his head. “Fine,” he said, laughing, “I’ll play bass in your band. But you better have someone in mind for a drummer already, because if we don’t have a drummer by the new year, I’m out.”

“Deal!” Thomas exclaimed, offering out his free hand.

Minho shook it, chuckling. “So, you guys have anyone in mind?”

“Yes, actually,” Newt said, launching into his explanation of why his family friend, Frypan, might just be the perfect fit.

* * *

Another jolt of the bus jostled Newt enough that he fell on top of Thomas, who let out a small huff of breath.

“You remember that, right?” Thomas asked again when Newt had again steadied himself on his elbow, hovering just above the younger boy.

“I don’t think I could forget,” Newt answered, and it was true-he would never be able to forget that first year he’d known Thomas.

“So do you really love me? Or are you just gonna leave when it’s convenient?” There was so much fear in the question that Newt wanted to cry, or ask where this was coming from, even though he knew.

“I really do,” he said instead, voice unwavering, entirely sure of his answer. “I, uh, I never actually hated you back then,” he admitted.

“What?” 

He knew by the change in tone that Thomas, for now, at least, was less doubtful of how he felt. But he’d spoken up, and after all this time, Newt owed Thomas the truth.

“I was jealous,” Newt said softly, keeping his gaze on Thomas. “Of how quickly you got along with Minho. And I was afraid of things between me and him changing, and I was afraid of how I felt about you from the moment you caught me when I fell. Petrified, really. And it was so much easier to shut you out and hope that you stayed away from me than it was to let you in.”

Thomas was silent now, his eyes locked with Newt’s.

“D’you remember that night on the roof?” Newt asked.

Thomas nodded.

“I knew that night that I’d spent the past couple of months pushing away one of the best people in my life. Minho keeps me sane most days, and he keeps me grounded, but you keep me whole. You keep me from falling to pieces. You’re like my glue, Tommy, you keep me together, you keep me in tune, and I will always, always love you, okay?”

“Okay,” Thomas breathed after a moment.

“Fuck, Tommy, I can’t remember life without you, not after all these years, and I never want to imagine a life without you. It’s you, forever,” Newt said.

“Okay,” Thomas repeated.

“Okay,” Newt mimicked, lowering himself so he could place a searing kiss to Thomas’s lips. “Forever,” he murmured.

“Forever,” Thomas mumbled back, his hand snaking its way up into Newt’s hair. “Love you, Newt.”

Newt’s whispered response were last words spoken between the two for the night. “Love you, too, Tommy.”


End file.
